


Random Events

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things really are random. Don has a harder time accepting that than Charlie, especially when it's his kid brother in the hospital.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Random Events

First published in _Brotherhood 7_ (2009), from Pyramids Press

 

Long week. With the arrival of summer, agents had started leaving for vacation, but that hadn’t reduced the amount of cases coming in. Files covered Don Eppes’ desk in no apparent order, and more arrived daily. Probably time for him to take a vacation, too, maybe go up the coast when Charlie had a break. It’d been a long time since he’d had to think in terms of semesters…

Don dropped his pen and stretched his neck to both sides, earning a smile from Terry. “Finished?”

“Are you kidding?” he groused. “I’d have to be here ‘til Thanksgiving for that. I promised Dad I’d be home for dinner.”

“Good.” She nodded. “It’ll still be here tomorrow.”

“Don’t I know it,” Don muttered and stood, reaching for his jacket on the back of his chair. The phone rang at the same moment, and he groaned.

“You want me to take it?” Terry offered.

“No, I’ve got it.” He snagged the receiver, tucked it under his chin as he shrugged one arm into the jacket. “Eppes.” He listened a moment.

And felt the blood drain from his face.

“I’m on my way.” The receiver barely made it back into its cradle.

He didn’t even see Terry staring at him, concerned, until she spoke. “What happened?”

Don shook his head, snapping out of the moment’s daze. He couldn’t afford that just now. “Charlie’s in the hospital.” Three long strides took him to the door. “He was attacked.”

“You want me to—”

But he was already halfway to the elevator and didn’t slow. Didn’t think about anything, really, except the shakiness of his dad’s voice and the fact that Charlie was hurt. That Dad didn’t even know how bad it was, and Charlie could even be dying at that moment.

No. No way. Not happening, not his brother and not while Don was there. Uh-uh.         

He didn’t remember the trip to the hospital, unaware of anything again until he saw Alan slumped beside the door of the room a nurse had directed Don to. Don’s heart rate, pounding since the call came, climbed another notch.

“Dad?”

Alan immediately straightened. He’d aged considerably since that morning, but his eyes were opaque even to his son.

“What—?”

“He’s okay, Donny. He’s a little bruised, but he’ll be fine.”

The air in him went out in a _whoosh_. Don tried to crane past his dad, focusing on Alan again when he couldn’t see anything from where he stood. “What happened?”

The elder Eppes shook his head angrily. “It was right in front of the house—Charlie must’ve just gotten home. He’s safe riding through the city, but on our own sidewalk…” At Don’s impatient shifting, he shook his head a second time, this time at himself, and started again. “I only saw the end of it—they ran off when I opened the door. But there were three of them crowded around your brother. Charlie was down on the ground and one of them…they _kicked_ him before they ran off.” Don put a hand on his dad’s shoulder, felt the fine tremors of Alan’s rage and reaction, and the emotion that had built inside his own chest on the way over grew stronger. “The police say it was a robbery—his wallet’s gone.”

“You don’t believe them?” Don asked carefully.

Alan ran a hand over his head. “I don’t know what to believe. All I know is, you were always the one I half-expected to be visiting here, not Charlie. You should have seen him lying there—scared me to death.”

For his dad’s sake, Don reined the anger in, pulled himself together. No matter how a case got to you, you never let the victim see, especially when they were family. “It’s okay, Dad,” he soothed, “you said Charlie’ll be fine, right?” A nod. “Okay, that’s what really matters here, right? And we’ll catch the guys who did this and make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Alan was reacting to his calm, taking a deep breath, nodding more firmly. “I know…I know.” He even managed a smile for his eldest, breaking Don’s heart a little more. “Do you want to see him? They gave him something to make him sleep, but you can still go in and see him.”

Which meant Charlie had been admitted. Don frowned. “I thought you said he was fine.”

“The doctor wanted to keep him overnight to make sure there’s no internal bleeding. From the bruises and what Charlie said, it looks like they hit him a few times.” Alan’s hand hovered over his abdomen, unconsciously protecting. Don caught the motion, face darkening at the thought of Charlie getting beaten up. On TV it looked insignificant, but organs could tear from blows like that, blood vessels rupture. At the very least, damaged flesh and muscle would hurt with every movement. The thought of Charlie suffering that made Don’s own stomach hurt.

“I’ll go in. You sure you’re okay?” He hadn’t thought to worry about his dad on the way over, but Alan’s shakiness now was unsettling. The elder Eppes didn’t rattle easily. Then again, he hadn’t seen one of his sons attacked before, either.

But Alan shook off the concern with a wan smile. “I’m okay. Go see your brother.” Don nodded, stepped toward the door, and pulled up short as his dad added more softly, “I’m glad you’re here, son.”

It probably hadn’t been intended to, but the words brought a rush of déjà vu: hurrying home when he received word his mom was ill, spending the last few months of her life here with his family, feeling helpless to do anything but sit and watch her die. His dad had said the same thing then, for all the good Don’s being there had done.

This was different: Charlie would be fine. Don shook his head, impatient with himself.

But as he stepped into the room and saw his brother, helpless was still helpless. Charlie was facing the door, curled on his side as if even in sleep he was trying to protect himself. His face was untouched except for a darkening bruise on his cheek, but there were lines of pain around his eyes and a faint puzzlement as if even in sleep he was trying to remember why. The difference in ages between the two of them seemed even greater with Charlie looking so young and vulnerable, and as Don crept up to his bed for a closer look, the anger hardened into something tight and painful. His little brother had been assaulted on his own front lawn. What were the chances of a brilliant mathematician and consultant to the FBI and NSA being attacked in a suburb by three guys? The money could have just been an excuse. If Alan hadn’t scared them off…

Don sucked in a breath past the pressure in his chest. All right, he hadn’t been there for Charlie when his brother needed him, but he was here now. “I’m gonna find them, Charlie, I swear,” he whispered and reached out to touch the blanketed shoulder, then pulled his hand back before he made contact. Don didn’t want to risk waking him. And he didn’t want to reassure himself.

“I’ll be back soon,” Don promised, and walked away without looking back.

But it still felt like he was leaving a part of himself behind in that quiet room.

 

It took seven hours.

Interviews with neighbors hadn’t turned up anything but a single confirmation of what Alan had already seen: three attackers taking off up the street when Alan appeared, no physical details discernible in the dimness of twilight. Just three men. Not helpful.

Frustrated, Don sat down with police files of similar MO’s, gang activity in the area, robberies in the neighborhood. The police were being unusually cooperative, but then, they respected the bond of family, too. When they’d found out who he was to Charlie, all the usual interdepartmental friction had evaporated.

It turned out there was more gang activity in the area than Don had expected, and he made some mental notes, too, as he flipped through case files, about following up on some of the anti-gang measures being taken. Even if there was no link between the gangs and Charlie’s attack, Don wanted that neighborhood as safe as possible. He had no intention of visiting his family in a hospital again anytime soon.

But if it wasn’t gangs, maybe it _was_ a targeted attack. Don had worried about that ever since he’d first brought his little brother in on cases. What if someone was getting back at Charlie? Or, worse, getting at Don through Charlie?

He chewed a couple of antacids, rubbed his eyes hard, and kept looking.

And then, after midnight, he found his missing piece.

Three young men, often working together, had been seen in the area twice those last few weeks, once allegedly threatening and chasing a woman into her house, another time robbing at knife-point a man walking his dog. They were suspects in the first crime, out on bail for the second. Two had last-known addresses in their files.

Don himself called for the warrants and made sure he was part of the raids.

The first turned up an empty house and some drug paraphernalia. The second netted the real prize: two of the guys and an address on the third from a disgruntled girlfriend. Within another hour, all three were at the station under arrest. Sometimes it really was that easy.

The cops deferred to Don for questioning. It hadn’t taken long. The weakest link in the bunch had lasted all of two minutes under Don’s glare and furious questions before giving himself up along with his friends. Charlie’s wallet was found in the sewer in front of his house. The motive had been simple robbery before they’d gotten “carried away.”

Don couldn’t believe it.

“So you had no idea who he was?”

“No, man, I swear—we were just lookin’ for someone and he was there. Why, who is he?”

Don resisted the urge to slam a fist onto the table. “I’m asking the questions. Who do you work for?”

“N-nobody, man. We don’t work for nobody.”

He did hit the table then.

The interrogation didn’t last much longer. The suspect started bawling, and Don reluctantly let the cops take over to get the formal confession. His instincts said the guy was telling the truth. The same instincts that couldn’t believe Charlie had just been a convenient target, nothing more or less.

He grabbed his jacket, signed the necessary paperwork, and headed back out to his car. The trip was carried out in grim silence, eyes burning with fatigue and stomach twisting queasily around too much coffee and too little food.

It was long past visiting hours, but Don was prepared to use his badge to get in if necessary. It wasn’t. Apparently crime victims had more lenient rules when it came to family and friends. Something about reassurance and feeling safe.

Charlie’s room was in semi-darkness now, and Don stood in the doorway a minute, letting his eyes adjust. His dad was sprawled in a chair beside the door, snoring away, his jacket slipping off his lap. Don smiled at him fondly, feeling some of the tension of that evening drain away at the sight. He paused to pull the jacket up so it covered the senior Eppes’ chest and shoulders, then continued on to the bed.

Charlie had moved only to turn onto his other side, but he seemed to be lying more easily now. With the bruise on his cheek buried against the pillow and some of the lines of his face smoothed out, Don could almost believe he was just asleep at home in his own bed.

He listened to his brother’s quiet breathing, and the hard set of his face slowly relaxed. A sigh came from very deep inside, some mixture of sorrow and regret and weariness. He did let himself touch this time, at least, his fingers brushing Charlie’s uncurled palm. Temp seemed normal, and there was no subconscious flinch at the contact. Good signs.

Nodding to himself, Don turned away and grabbed the one other chair in the room, beside the window, and dragged it over near the bed. He sank down on its edge and ran a hand over his face. Exhaustion was almost a physical weight on his shoulders, but he wasn’t ready for sleep yet, not even in the lulling peace of the room. He needed to stand watch for a little while first.

Don opened his notebook and one of the case files he’d brought along and got to work, one ear tuned to the sleeper a few feet away. Just in case.

 

“Don?”

He’d been nodding off over his paperwork, but Don’s head snapped up at the single word. He smiled when he saw Charlie watching him, drowsy but aware. Don set aside the file he was working on and leaned forward. “Hey. How’re you feeling?”

His brother stirred slightly under the covers and grimaced. “Ow.”

“Yeah, ow,” Don said sympathetically. “Dad said they’re letting you go home today, but you’re gonna be sore for a while.”

Charlie didn’t answer, didn’t even seem to care about that, just stared at him with an expression Don was unsure how to read.

“Charlie?”

“You don’t look so good, either. Did you get any sleep?”

“I’m okay,” he instantly dodged. The last thing he wanted Charlie to worry about was him. “Hey, listen—we caught the guys.”

To his surprise, the corner of Charlie’s mouth curled into a smile that looked distinctly rueful. “You didn’t sleep last night,” he said softly.

Don shook off the fruitless topic. “I talked to all three of them, and I’ve been checking their backgrounds and connections, but I can’t find any ties to either the school or cases you’ve worked on for us.”

“I don’t think there is one.”

Don shook his head again. “With all the consulting you’ve been doing for us—do you know what the odds are this was a random attack?”

“If you give me some variables, I can figure it out for you.”

He blinked, realized his brother was teasing him. “Charlie, I’m serious,” Don said irritably. “You’ve probably made some enemies in the last six months. If anyone found—”

“Don.”

The quiet voice silenced him. Charlie shifted a little, winced again, and sounded slightly breathless when he continued.

“Sometimes events are truly random—wrong place, wrong time. There isn’t always a pattern.”

Don snorted. “That’s kind of ironic, coming from you, you know.”

“Random events are mathematical, too. You just have to know—” Charlie yawned, looking momentarily miserable as his bruised body flexed.

Don reached out a hand and patted his arm, one of the few visible uninjured spots on his brother. “Okay, random events, I got it.”

He was surprised as Charlie instantly grabbed his hand, holding onto it tightly. Like when they’d walked down the street to the park as kids. One of the few times he could remember his little brother just being his little brother.

Charlie didn’t seem to be in any physical distress, not growing pale or rigid, but his hand trembled the slightest bit as he shut his eyes and gulped. And Don relaxed again as quickly as he’d tensed. He forgot sometimes, with the line of work he was in, that adrenaline rushes and life-and-death situations weren’t exactly par for the course for most people. He put his free hand on top of his brother’s, squeezed it lightly. “You’re okay,” he said quietly.

A single terse nod.

They sat long minutes in silence, as Don felt the hand sandwiched between his steady and slowly relax its grip. When he thought Charlie was up for it, he let go and gently tousled his brother’s hair in the front, just as he had as a kid. “You think you can get some sleep now?”

A swallow, then another nod. Charlie finally opened his eyes partway. “You, too.”

Don almost smiled. “Yeah, okay, me, too. One of us has to be awake to get you home.”

“Dad will,” Charlie said sleepily. There was the barest nod of the head back over his shoulder, and Don didn’t wonder how his brother knew Alan was sleeping on the other side of him.

Didn’t matter. He just murmured, “Go back to sleep, Charlie.”

No second invitation was needed. Charlie was already out.

Don’s hand still trapped under his own.

Don considered that briefly, then stood and scooted his chair forward one-handed so he could sit back without breaking that grip. It still wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it would do. He leaned his head back against the top of the seat and stared up at the dim ceiling.

Random events. Neither his nor Charlie’s job encouraged a belief in randomness; how was he supposed to believe an attack that could have taken his brother from him was nothing more than coincidence? The world was an unsettled place enough with the things he could protect Charlie from, let alone the things he couldn’t.

“He’s okay, Don.”

His dad’s fatigue-scratchy voice from across the room didn’t really surprise him. “I know.”

“And Charlie himself’ll tell you the chances of something like this happening to him again, even in L.A., are pretty low.”

He sighed. Since when had he become the one in the family to need reassurance? “I know.”

“So let it go, son. Charlie already has.”

Don rolled his head a little to one side so his brother was in view, and studied the contentedly sleeping patient. Talk about randomness: how likely was it that two such disparate brothers would come from the same parents? Yet while Don was the serious, buttoned-up one to his brother’s untamed hair and rambling ideas, Charlie was the one who’d flourished in the organized predictability of his numbers. Maybe that was what kept him grounded; Don was still figuring that one out. But he knew his brother was the one who’d brought order back into Don’s own life, who’d made it make sense. Charlie and Alan.

Well, if Charlie could make his peace with this, Don could, too. The tough anger in him had already begun to thaw, melting off in chunks. He still hated this, sitting here in a hospital room with Charlie hurt, feeling powerless to do anything but catch the bad guys afterward. But no, that wasn’t all he could do, Don amended, eyes sliding down to where Charlie held on to him even in sleep. At least he was here for this part, too. That was something.

Don’s gaze went back to his brother’s face and softened at the sight. Actually, thinking back to a few times in his own solitary past, that was a lot. Maybe he could bring a little stability to Charlie’s world, too.

He took a deep breath, feeling the effects of the long, sleepless night wash over him. There would be time later to do the paperwork and puzzle things out. For now, he was ready to stop thinking All that mattered was safe in that room.

“Good-night, Dad,” Don whispered, sliding down a little more in the chair in an effort to get comfortable. A lost cause, but he was already dozing off anyway.

“Good-night, Donny.”

At peace, he slept.

The End


End file.
